


Sing Your Death Song, Die Like a Hero Going Home

by unappetizingegg



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, i will be adding character/relationship tags as we go, i'm spoiling a lot of shit sorry, like this is going to be very heavy i am sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:23:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29796003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unappetizingegg/pseuds/unappetizingegg
Summary: “Sam?”That was Dream’s voice. Sam perked up. He hadn’t heard Dream call for him in a long time. His head swiveled, looking towards the veil of lava before him, where he knew Dream was hidden.“Sam.”“Yes?”“He’s dead.”alternatively:Tommy is dead. It’s felt around the whole SMP.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sam | Awesamdude, Jack Manifold & TommyInnit, Ranboo & Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Sam | Awesamdude & TommyInnit
Comments: 6
Kudos: 76





	1. The Warden

**Author's Note:**

> Today's streams have been very heavy. So here, have some more heavy, really angsty shit.
> 
> I will be writing multiple chapters on characters finding out and reacting to Tommy's death on the Dream SMP. This is the first chapter of many. Enjoy!

He could hear the yelling from across the lava veil.

They’d been screaming back and forth for almost half an hour now, a daily occurrence Sam had grown accustomed to. He sat there, wearily, his head in his hands. He’d just finished speaking with Tommy, trying to convey how sorry he was, trying to convince him to just preserve himself, to protect himself. He had tried, tried to coach him through the trial the child had been facing but he couldn’t do much from the other side of the protective measures designed to keep Dream locked in.

And he couldn’t lift them, because he’d failed to find the cause of the security problem.

He’d failed.

The shouting stopped. Sam breathed deeply, heaving a sigh. It was likely that Tommy had just given up, or Dream had grown tired of fighting. It had been 19 days, 19 days of constant fighting and yelling and anger and frightened shouts. He felt sick to his stomach.

He’d left that child, Tommy, in there for 19 days. And he didn’t know when he’d be able to get him out.

He wished he could do more.

“Sam?”

That was Dream’s voice. Sam perked up. He hadn’t heard Dream call for him in a long time. His head swivelled, looking towards the veil of lava before him, where he knew Dream was hidden.

“Sam.”

“Yes?”

“He’s dead.”

Sam blinked. He stared, blinked again, stared some more. The words made sense, but not really. He knew what they meant, but they couldn’t be true. There was just no way that they were true.

“Sam.”

He blinked again. His mouth was dry.

“Repeat what you said.”

“He’s dead.”

That just couldn’t be true.

“Who?”

“Tommy. He’s dead.”

His throat was numb, his head buzzing. There was something filling his head with smoke and he couldn’t concentrate. His hand found the sword at his hip, holding the handle shakily.

“I killed him.”

“You killed him.”

“Yes.”

Sam stood still. His brain was working but it wasn’t. It was broken. He couldn’t think. _Think_ , it said to him, _Think now. What do I do. Think._

He took a shaky breath, taking a step closer, raising his voice, “Tommy?”

Nothing.

He could feel the heat of the lava as he stepped even closer, “Tommy, if you can hear me, say something. Speak to me.”

He waited, the pit in his stomach growing ever deeper, threatening to swallow him up. No answer, not even a sign or whimper or single sound. Nothing.

“Tommy, I need you to say something.”

“He’s dead, Sam.”

Sam forced himself to take a second. His face was wet because he knew the truth, he knew that Tommy would have responded by now if he could. Either he was injured, or he was actually dead, as Dream claimed.

“What happened,” he demanded, his voice wavering as he called out to the monster that the cell held.

“We fought. I won.”

He always did.


	2. The Angel of Death

Phil was uncomfortable.

This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for him. Ever since he’d set up the bee farm at Techno’s- no, it was his home as well now- at their home base, he’d had to perform regular maintenance on it to ensure the bees were alive and well. He knew that with a little bit of tweaking, he’d probably be able to get it to function much more smoothly, but he was just a bit too lazy to put the effort in required. He’d have to deconstruct part of the building he’d made, and take apart the collection system and-

It was too much work.

So, instead, he crawled into the small space he’d left and did the work from there. Sure, it caused him a small amount of discomfort in the process, but he couldn’t complain that much.

It was very suddenly not okay.

There was a pain in his chest, a pain he hadn’t felt in a while. A sharp, stinging pain, that travelled down his arms and up his neck and through his wings and caused him to recoil in shock. He grimaced as he first heard his head collide with the wood of the structure he had crammed himself into, then felt the hit, more stinging, sharp pain blossoming from the point of contact. His wings tried to spread, smacking against the wooden walls of the bee house, frantically twitching and fluttering.

Something was very wrong.

Over the centuries he’d lived, Phil’s senses had matured to a point in which he could tell when something was off. He felt the major shifts in the universe in his bones. He’d grown attune to the tremors of change that spread throughout the world when someone, or something, caused a major event that would impact him and those he kept close.

This was one of those occasions.

As he crawled out of the bee farm, he stood gingerly and dusted himself off, a shiver running down his spine that he knew was not from the freezing cold temperatures. Something had happened, something horrible, a horrible event that caused his whole being to be alive, to warn him. Every atom of his body was on fire.

He looked to the sky and wondered what had occurred.


	3. The Blood God

When Techno was bored, he’d sit by the fire and write.

His mind was full of colourful, intricate stories that he’d always wanted to share, fantastical tales that he’d paint out onto paper with words. His fingers worked quickly, drawing out each letter with care, his thoughts spilling onto the pages in front of him. The voices, they chimed in, giving him inspiration. They told him these tales, practically wrote them for him, full of brilliant ideas and intriguing storylines that made his mind race even faster and his fingers work harder to keep up.

At first, he barely heard the voice that screamed “Tommy is dead”. It was only one, a singular voice that yelled to him, in the back of his mind. Quite often, the voices would say rubbish, tell him lies. They made up for it, with their brilliance every now and then, but at times they’d fail him greatly.

He was sure this was one of those times.

But when that voice repeated what it’d said, another picked up the chant as well, and then another. Quickly, one by one, the voices began to scream, to call to him, in frenzied panic, “Tommy is dead” they chanted.

He batted near the side of his head at first, dismissing them silently, sure it was just another lie. But as they grew in number and in noise, his gaze slowly lifted from the paper in his hand. The quill balanced in his fingers felt heavy, his chest very suddenly too tight.

“Really,” he murmured to them, the chorus of agreements and affirmations causing him to pause further. “How,” he demanded quietly, and the name that was shouted back at him made him stand.

On his feet, the quill and paper forgotten, dropped to the floor without a second thought, he looked around the room he was in. He could almost see Tommy there, standing in the doorway, retreating from him, running from him. He could almost see him sitting in the other chair, laughing at something hysterically, slapping the leather armrest aggressively as he rocked back and forth. He could almost see him climbing down the ladder, on his way to bed in the basement he’d built when he’d first bummed it in Techno’s base without telling him. He could almost see him still there.

Techno’s gaze stopped at the window as a flicker of movement caught his eye. He watched as Phil pushed himself to his feet, dusting himself off, before wrapping his arms around himself and grimacing up at the sky. His friend looked almost pained, his wings flaring out in a flourish. It was a look that Techno knew. Something was off, Phil could feel it. Something was wrong.

The voices would not stop screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What character's would you like to see? I have Ranboo, Tubbo, Jack and Puffy planned, currently. Please give me suggestions!


	4. The Memory Boy

His feet felt heavy, his heart was made of lead. Somehow, his head was empty, his brain completely blank. He just couldn’t concentrate, every thought that came to him leaving the second it arrived. There was only one thing that he could remember.

Tommy was dead.

He walked slowly, unable to keep up a steady pace. His body barely felt real, barely felt like it was even his. He almost felt like he was a puppet, seeing himself take the slow journey home. He couldn’t even feel the snow and wicked wind nipping at his exposed skin.

He could see Techno’s house.

He was almost there.

When he’d heard the news, straight from the warden himself, he’d left Snowchester as fast as he could. He couldn’t be there, couldn’t see Tubbo break, couldn’t watch the people there who had lost their friend grieve. He knew he needed to go home, to be alone, but as he approached Techno and Phil’s houses, he felt the sudden need to tell them, to tell them what horrific thing had occurred.

Would they care? He didn’t know. But he needed to tell them all the same. It wouldn’t be right, if they didn't know.

He could see movement, the door opening and Techno walking out onto the balcony as he approached. His gaze fell on Phil, his giant wings spread open, as the older man’s head turned to stare at him. Ranboo slowed, his feet numb. He stood still, the snow up to his knees.

He shivered.

He said the only thing he could think.

“Tommy is dead.”

Techno stared at him. He didn’t look shocked, but the haunted, empty eyes that met his were full of anguish and pain. He could feel the loss there, hanging between them in the air. He could see the conflict, the turmoil. It was a reminder of The Blade’s humanity.

When he looked to Phil, Ranboo felt himself break.

The confusion, the utter shock, the hurt on the older man’s face, it said it all. There was no hiding the immense amounts of pain that his words had caused, there was no way Phil could mask it.

He’d seen the same look on Tubbo’s face as he’d left.

Ranboo closed his eyes and let himself fall. As warm arms pulled him and familiar voices called out to him, he willed himself to forget.

One voice was louder than the rest.

“It’s what he deserved.”


	5. The Traitor

Tommy was dead.

It was all he’d wanted for months, now. all he’d worked towards. Every step, every minute, every  _ second _ , he’d been planning the demise of the boy he once considered his friend.

Tommy had taken everything from him. His home, his friends, his possessions… all gone because of Tommy’s carelessness. All robbed right out of his hands by a person he’d trusted, a person he treasured.

Now, he was dead. Justice had been served.

It was all so wrong.

Jack didn’t feel at peace, as he’d been sure he would. He didn’t feel relief, he wasn’t full of pride since he’d ultimately been successful. He wasn’t overjoyed, thankful for his win, boasting and gloating and rejoicing at the fact that he’d finally been the one to come out on top. After countless wars and battles and small petty fights, losing over and over, he’d finally won.

But he didn’t feel anything. He felt empty, unsure how to feel. Lost.

What he was sure of was that it hurt. He could feel the wound in his chest, a dagger or sword, a blade of some sort, tearing through him.

And watching Tubbo, young Tubbo, fall and break apart in a way no child ever should, only deepened the wound further.


End file.
